Dustings of Truth
by Lala Kate
Summary: A little girl sets out on a quest of her own making to find the father she never knew.
1. Chapter 1

She stores it in a glass vial shoved under her pillow at night, her fingers clasped around it as if it offers some sort of protection in the dark. Mommy wouldn't like it, she fears, so it is thrust into a pocket in her mattress in the mornings, carefully tucked out of sight, her faithful sock monkey instructed to guard it with his life.

Pixie dust is valuable, she knows, worth more than even diamonds, or so Tinkerbelle says. She would be in trouble if they knew she took some—even Mommy would be angry with her, and she would probably have to give it back. But she needs it to find him. Her Daddy—her Papa—the one Mommy still cries over when she thinks no one can hear her, the one Tinkerbelle has told her she looks like even with her dark eyes that match her mother's.

Pixie Dust can find your true love.

She has heard Mommy and Tinkerbelle talk about it many times when they believed she was asleep. Yes—she has magic—magic even Mommy doesn't know about, but it's not strong enough to lead her to their true love-the person who should be with her and Mommy, the one she wants to hug and feel kiss her cheeks, the one who should read bedtime stories to her and tuck her in at night.

The man who can make Mommy smile again.

She will test it tomorrow—she thinks she finally has enough. She then smiles and lets her eyes drift shut, thinking of the backpack she has filled with food and her favorite blanket, certain her plan will not fail, excited at the prospect of making Mommy happy.

Only pixie dust can find the person she needs. Only pixie dust can lead her to her daddy. And pixie dust never lies.


	2. Chapter 2

She is tired.

Her legs are heavy, her nose is runny, and the forest green cloak she wears is now damp with light rain. She's scared, hungry and misses her Mommy, but the path of pixie dust still glows in front of her, pulling her onward, even though her boots are hurting her feet.

Maybe she should have worn her sparkly sneakers after all.

A sound stops her, and she searches the woods, wondering if it was a wolf or a dog she heard howling. She hopes it's a dog. She likes dogs. But wolves…wolves frighten her. There it is again, and it sounds closer. Should she hide? Climb a tree? Do any of them have branches short enough for her to reach? If only she were taller, but she's not. She's petite like her Mommy—at least that's what Tinkerbelle says.

Is her daddy tall, she wonders?

Then her chin trembles, dark eyes fill, and she can't help it. Small legs crumble, setting her down on a fallen tree trunk as she pulls her knees to her chest and cries. She wishes for a dog, a big, friendly dog who would protect her from wolves and keep her company here in this forest. She is lonely—terribly lonely.

She didn't think about that before she left.

Her eyes scrunch tightly, and she cries even harder, missing Mommy, missing Tinkerbelle, missing her sock monkey and her warm bed. She covers her face with her hands, wishing her mommy was with her to hold her close and wipe away her tears. Her fingers clench, bunching around something soft, her face warming to heated pants as a very real tongue licks her cheek.

Her head jerks up, and she stares into eyes as brown as her own.

The dog is white, pure white, terribly fluffy and as soft as her stuffed rabbit. He is nearly as tall as she is, and he smells like cotton candy. He is the dog she has always imagined having as her own, one she calls Baxter in her imagination after a dog in one of her favorite picture books. How did he get here? Where did he come from? Is he magical?

Did she wish him here? Does her magic work like that?

She did wish an apple from the kitchen to her bedroom once, wondering just what had fallen from the ceiling and hit her on the head while she was playing with her dolls. It was the very apple she'd been picturing in her mind—big, red and juicy—and she wanted to ask Mommy about it, to find out just what she had done, but she had forgotten.

She should have asked.

The dog nudges her face, making her giggle, and she's not so tired anymore. Small fingers grasp his coat, feeling almost as safe with him as she does with her mommy, and she hugs his neck before they resume their journey.

When had the rain stopped?

How far has she walked today, she wonders again as they continue to follow the trail that leads to her Daddy. She hopes he likes her. Aren't daddies supposed to love their children?

She and Baxter walk for what feels like forever, the dog nudging her gently whenever she feels the need to give up, and soon she realizes it is getting dark. Another howl is heard, and Baxter stops at once, ears pointed upwards on full alert. She holds on to his fur, searching the forest around her, seeing only trees and a retreating squirrel. But nothing else.

Do wolves eat children?

They move again, carefully now that the sun is setting, and her boots are beginning to squeeze her feet. She is afraid of the dark, she always has been. It makes her tummy hurt and her hands get all sweaty and sometimes even makes her cry. Mommy keeps a nightlight in her room—one shaped like a tree that makes her feel safe and protected.

"A tree for my Lark," Mommy told her one night, hugging her tight and close. "It will keep you safe in the dark, a very special shelter for my precious little song bird."

She loves that Mommy calls her Lark. It's her own special nickname, and one she thinks has an important meaning, although she's not certain what it might be. Birds make both her and Mommy smile, and they enjoy watching them perch in the branches of their small orchard.

All but robins.

Tinkerbelle had warned her not to show her mommy the nest with a small blue egg she had discovered in their special apple tree one afternoon, but she couldn't help it. She had been so excited about a baby robin growing up in their yard and had pulled her mommy outside, wanting her to be just as happy about the bird family as she had been. Mommy hadn't said anything, just nodded and tried to smile, but she had heard her crying in her bedroom a few minutes later. Tinkerbelle had been right.

What was so sad about a baby robin?

She hears a different bird—an owl, maybe, and she looks around her again, trying to keep her legs from shaking. She is now surrounded by trees, but they are not like the ones that grows apples in her back yard. These trees are bigger and oddly shaped, some long and tall, others bent and broken. She likes them, she wishes they could speak with her and tell her what to do. But not even Baxter can do that.

She is alone. She doesn't know what to do. And she is very, very frightened.

Her stomach growls, and she reaches into her bag for the last apple, wondering if she can wish a cheeseburger into her hand instead. Nothing happens, however, and she starts to cry again, burying her face in the dog's fur as she calls out for her Mommy.

"Are you alright?"

She jumps, staring up into the face of a boy with black curls and a friendly smile.

"I'm hungry," she answers, holding on to Baxter for dear life.

"Come with me," he tells her, offering his hand. "We have food at the camp. Can't you smell it?"

She sniffs and smiles as the scent of something delicious hits her nose, making her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It smells like the steaks that Mommy sometimes cooks and cuts into small, bite-sized pieces for her to eat. She misses Mommy so badly.

"Can Baxter come with me?"

The boy reaches out to pet the giant dog who rubs his large head against his hand.

"Of course," he answers. "I love dogs, and so does Papa."

It makes her feel good to know that.

He is bigger than she is, but he's still a boy, she thinks. Not a smelly teenager like the one who sometimes mows their lawn and cuts their weeds. She walks behind her new friend, noticing that he is following the same pixie dust trail as she.

"Can you see it?" she asks him, practically running to keep up with him.

"See what?" he questions, looking around the forest for anything unusual.

"The sparkly dust," she explains, her heart starting to beat faster as it brightens in the darkening sky.

"You must be really hungry," he says, looking at her as if she has said something silly. "Uncle John is cooking tonight. I'm sure he'll give you a big plate of food."

He doesn't see it, then. She wonders just how pixie dust works. It must possess very powerful magic.

They hike up a hill, and she wraps her cloak around herself, starting to feel cold again as the wind tugs at her wavy hair. It is much lighter than Mommy's but darker than Tinkerbelle's, somewhere between golden and light brown Mommy tells her.

She wonders if her daddy has light hair.

The dust's glow intensifies, increasing her excitement, and she begins to dash ahead of the boy. Daddy must be close! He must be nearby! The dust is shining so brightly now it almost hurts her eyes. She can't believe the boy cannot see it.

"Hurry!" she cries out, more excited than she has been her entire life.

Is he visiting the camp? If he is, she will meet him at last. Her daddy! Her and her mommy's true love!

She doesn't even notice the growling of her stomach as the boy jogs to catch up to her, calling out for her to slow down. But she keeps running, even if her feet hurt, even if it's dark outside. Baxter begins to bark excitedly, beating them both to the summit where a large camp sits under the trees.

Men stop when they see her, offering smiles and curious stares. She thinks there are a lot of them, but she doesn't really notice. For a light is beaming down on one man who is tending the fire, one wearing a jacket, one she hears laughing.

One she has wanted to meet her entire life. Why won't her legs work anymore?

She can't move any further, and Baxter comes to her side, warming her hands as the laughing man sees her for the first time. He has a beard, a nice beard, and light hair that almost matches hers. And dimples—just like she has. Just like the boy has.

"Who have we here, Roland?"

Her eyes widen at the sound of his voice, but her tongue won't move as he walks towards her.

"I'm not sure," the boy answers. "I found her in the forest. I think she's lost, and I know she's hungry."

He kneels down in front of her, and she can't stop looking at him—her daddy—her very own daddy. Can he tell who she is? Does he know he is her papa?

"What's your name, little one?" he asks her, studying her face in the firelight.

"Sabrina," she tells him, hoping that he likes it. "But you can call me Lark if you want to. Mommy does."

He smiles at that. Has she made him happy?

"Lark," he echoes. "That's a lovely nickname. Why are you all alone in the forest, Little Lark? And where is your mother?"

She looks at him. His face is so bright under the glow of the dust.

"I've been looking for my daddy."

"Were you separated from him?" he asks her. "If so, he'll be looking for you."

She shakes her head and squeezes his hands tightly. She doesn't want him to go away again. Not now when she has just found him. Not ever again.

"I followed the pixie dust," she tells him. "It leads you to your true love, you know, so I asked it to lead me to my daddy, and it did."

His eyes are so big now, and his lips look tight.

"And it led you here?" he questions. "The pixie dust? Into the forest?"

He is staring at her and touching her hair, looking at her like Mommy sometimes does when she asks about him. Almost as if he has seen a ghost, she thinks.

"It lead you to this camp?"

His hands are shaking, she notices, and she wonders just why he is whispering. She wants to squeal and jump up and down.

"It led me to you," she says, throwing her arms around his neck, so happy that he feels better than she ever imagined. So happy that he makes her feel safe. So happy that he is her daddy.


	3. Chapter 3

_Many thanks to all of you who are reading/reviewing this tale. It began as a one-shot in response to a drabble prompt on tumblr and morphed into this short story. I had a few requests for this installment to be from Robin's POV, and I felt that was highly appropriate given the circumstances and would allow us a glimpse into his thoughts and feelings. _

_I don't own Ouat, Robin, Roland, Regina or Tinkerbell. But Lark is all mine. :) And I do hope you enjoy! _

_For Cls2011._

* * *

><p>Robin cannot breathe.<p>

Small arms are flung tightly around his neck, light brown curls tickling his nose as hints of soft vanilla, juice and the unmistakable scent of young child hit his senses. His arms remain leaden by his side, his mind reeling in five different directions at once as the girl hangs on to him as if he is her very lifeline.

Perhaps he is. God—what if he is?

Then eyes he's never forgotten gleam back at him in the twilight, large and brown, full of wonder and uncertainty.

"Aren't you happy to see me, Daddy?"

His heart cracks wide open at once.

"Of course I'm happy to see you, Little Lark," he manages, his mind still lagging far behind his tongue. "It's just—are you certain about this? You really believe that I'm your father? What if you're wrong?"

She looks disappointed and he breaks inside yet again, recalling such an expression on a face all too familiar with bone-crushing loss.

"You can't tell?" Lark questions, her little chin quivering just so. Tears now well in those deep eyes, and he cannot stand it anymore, hugging the girl to his chest, her soft whimpering on his shoulder cutting him more deeply than any dagger has ever done.

"I thought you'd just know," she mumbles as he lifts her in his arms, holding her tight as Roland stares back at them with his mouth hanging open. There is no sound in the camp save those made by crickets, squirrels and the arrhythmic pops from the fire. Only her sniffles carry through the air, and he wipes her cheeks, smiling back at her warmly.

"Sometimes grown-ups aren't as smart as children," he states, watching her bite her lower lip as he so often does. Defined dimples peek out at him, and he can't help but stroke her hair, marveling at its child-like softness cascading against his own coarse hands.

"Tinkerbell says the same thing," Lark tells him, and the fairy's name hits him squarely in the chest, this solid link to Regina nearly robbing him of breath yet again. "She says that children are sometimes the wisest of all."

"Tinkerbell is right," he agrees softly, casting a cautious glimpse at his son who steps into their space deliberately.

"What are you doing?"

The boy's question draws Lark's attention, and she smiles down at him in pure innocence.

"I found my daddy!" she explains as small fingers fist into his jacket. He fights the urge to kiss her forehead, being drawn to this child with a force beyond any explanation rather than the one she is offering. "You helped me find my daddy."

Roland's face scrunches in hurt defiance, his eyes creasing in a confusion that hurts.

"He's my Papa," the boy insists. "Mine, not yours."

Robin knees down until he is eye to eye with Roland, careful to keep Lark close to his chest with one arm while the other reaches out to his boy.

"Roland," he whispers as he takes his son's arm. "There's no need…"

The boy's eyes widen in panic, and he takes a step backwards.

"You can't be her daddy," he insists, another set of brown eyes looking to him in a marked plea. "Tell her, Papa. Tell her. She's wrong!"

Then Lark stares back and forth between the two of them, and for the first time he sees a measure of fear in her eyes. This is unacceptable. He cannot bear to see her afraid.

"Son," he entreats, his voice feeling as unsteady as the ground under his feet. "Just calm down. We'll work all of this out, I promise. Right now Lark is our guest, and she is hungry. We should let her get something to eat. "

He feels Lark pull out of his embrace and watches as she steps towards Roland, gazing up at the boy as if he were a magical being.

"You're my brother?"

Food is now obviously the furthest thing from her mind, and her question freezes the moment in time, hurdling the three of them into a most unexpected realm.

"I love big brothers," Lark beams, walking straight to Roland and taking his hand. "And you even saved me in the forest!"

Something stings inside as he realizes the girl must know Henry but has been kept from him and his son. He shoves the feeling aside as quickly as it appears, knowing such emotions will cause nothing but harm. She throws herself around Roland's middle, hugging him in manner that clearly takes the boy completely off-guard. He looks to Robin in a state of half-panic, half-disbelief, and Robin moves quickly, wrapping his arms around both of them, feeling somehow more complete than he had but minutes ago.

Before his life had been forever altered. Before this child who was most likely his daughter showed up magically in his camp.

"Mommy never told me I had another brother."

She pulls back from Roland, looking from father to son with an innocence that squeezes his heart until it hurts.

"I wonder why?" she asks, her nose scrunching in a manner that makes her look much too much like Regina.

He knows the answer, even as he refuses to dwell on it, too many emotions and thoughts competing for dominance as one little girl looks up at him in sincere confusion.

"Maybe it's because I'm not your brother," Roland states matter-of-factly, making Lark back up two steps. "And he's not your father."

"But he is," the girl argues, her curls bobbing up and down in time with her head. "He has to be. Pixie dust never lies."

There is no argument to be found, and Robin realizes the rest of the camp has remained frozen, not daring to move as this very personal drama unfolds under their watch. He takes Lark's hands within his own, looking directly at her before asking the question to which he already knows the answer.

"Your mommy, Little Lark," he begins gently, watching as she bites her lower lip again in perfect time with him. "What is her name?'

Her eyes brighten at the mention of her mother, a small smile breaking out over her face.

"Regina, of course," she replies as if it is the most obvious answer in the world. It probably is. "Didn't you know that already? You're her true love, too."

He hears Roland gasp at this name from his past, Robin's insides cinching at the mere mention of the woman he has never been able to forget.

"Gina?" Roland whispers, staring at Lark in a different light. "The woman who gave me ice cream and apples?"

"We grow apples," Lark elaborates, bouncing on her short legs. "And Mommy always has ice cream in the freezer. Rocky Road is her favorite. Mine is vanilla."

His breath hitches in his chest.

"So is mine."

Robin grins at his confession, even as his hands resume their trembling, watching as her eyes light up at such a small similarity they share as if it is the most beautiful magic in the world.

He thinks it has to be.

His vision blurs as tears well up unbidden, the certainty of the girl's parentage no longer in question, at least not for him. She is his—his daughter. His little girl. The child he never knew yet who courageously took it upon herself to find him.

"Are you alright, Daddy?"

"Yes," he lies, a part of him floating out of his own body, watching the scene as if from a distance. A low hum resonates in his ears, and he drops to his knees directly in front of her, the need to memorize every minute detail of this child overpowering. Her brows are a shade darker than her hair, her lashes nearly black like her mothers, and he wonders if her eager bright spirit mirrors how Regina was as a girl, before loss and disappointment carved into pure innocence and left it in tatters.

"I'm fine, Little Lark," he manages, unsure of how words made their way up his clenched throat and through parched lips. "Just so happy to meet you."

She throws her small body around his yet again, and this time he hugs her to his chest. A protective surge well up in his veins along with something he can only describe as rightness, both emotions cutting through the swirls of confusion dominating everything he is and settling firmly on top. He loves this child already, yet it hasn't been confirmed that she is his. But she is—he is certain of it, as certain as he is of his own name.

His. His daughter. His Little Lark.

Oh God.

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><p><em>Y<em>_es, there is more to come. And yes-I adore hearing your thoughts. :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_So sorry for the wait, dear readers. Laptop issues made this delay inevitable, I'm afraid. I hope you think it was worth the wait. :) And as always, thank you so very much for reading!_

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><p>"<em>I love you." <em>

_He had breathed the words into her neck, across her skin, needing her to believe what burned so fervently in his chest, wishing he could claim every piece of this woman now in his arms all at once. _

"_Oh, God. Robin." _

_Her cry had been unsteady and deep as hands worked to loosen ties and undo clasps. Mouths met again, working themselves across lips and bare skin with a hunger that would not be sated in any other fashion, desperate clutches morphing into intimate caresses, cold fingers warming in the grasp of heated flesh._

"_I've been a fool," he had managed as red fabric slid down her limbs, pooling at her feet as an odd penance offering to a goddess. "It's you, Regina. God, it's always been you. I was an idiot to think I could live any other way."_

_Her neck opened to him, her hands drawing him close, allowing him to taste and worship, to savor and claim. She was ethereal yet so very real, a perfect blend of magic and earth, of fire and beauty, of the broken and the restored._

"_Robin," she had whispered into his mouth as his pants dropped to the floor, the rest of their clothes following suit in a mad, dizzying rush. _

_Body to body, skin to skin. They stood breathless, touching, learning, mesmerized, lost to all save the other, the only sounds breaking through their private cocoon the throaty gasps and cries of passion._

"_I need you. Please."_

_She never begged, rarely asked, but there was a plea on her features he knew mirrored his own, a plea he would honor, a need he would fill. She completed him in a way no one else ever had, burrowing into places he had kept off limits, allowing him to enter painful and well-fortified aspects of her past, even as he entered her body with a noise that bordered on inhuman._

_Sweat met sweat, skin slid across skin, and they had driven each other forward, finding a rhythm that kept them unsteady and on the brink of something far beyond the physical._

"_I love you," she had moaned as her walls clenched around him, her nails digging in as her head fell backwards, her mouth open yet silent. _

"_Regina," he had muttered over and over as his life spilled into her, and she had held him to her heart, the heart she had entrusted to his keeping, the heart that had captured his completely until he was certain it beat in time with his own. _

"_Don't leave me," she had whispered into the night when she believed that he slept, and he rolled towards her slowly, stricken by her mortified expression that gazed back at him wide-eyed._

"_I can't," he assured her, caressing her outer thigh. "I won't." He then stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, pulled her into his chest, wrapped her in all he could offer, in all that he was. "I'm not strong enough to do that."_

_Cool fingers had traced his cheeks, marking him for life as brown eyes saw something he couldn't._

"_You should," she breathed, making him shiver in spite of the lingering heat of spent bodies. "It would be better for you if you did." _

_He brought those fingers to his lips, kissing them softly, touching his nose to hers._

"_You're wrong," he had stated, claiming her mouth, feeling her desperation as keenly as he felt his own. "And I won't."_

_And he hadn't. She had left him instead._

* * *

><p>"Are you alright, Daddy?"<p>

The girl's question pulls him from heated memories, ones that hurt yet insist on being revisited, ones held close and treasured, ones that grant him hindsight into the few treasured moments of happiness he and Regina had been granted.

Memories of the very night the child sitting next to him must have been conceived. His daughter. Their daughter. The perfect result of a joining he has never been able to bring himself to regret.

"I'm fine, Lark," he returns, wrapping an arm about her shoulder, tasting his lie on the back of his tongue.

"Your face looked funny," she states as she tears off another piece of her bread. "Like you were upset."

He can't help but smile at her, at that precious, blatant honesty reserved for children and the elderly.

"I was just thinking," he assures her with a squeeze. "That's all. Daddies do that sometimes."

He sees Roland's eyes bore holes into him from across the table, eyes full of confusion and a pain he knows will not simply be swept away with a few words and reassurances. This will take time—for Roland, for him, for all of them. God—all of them—his family.

His family. They must learn to be a family. He exhales mounting fears, knowing they pale in the light of this wonder now seated beside him, praying silently for the strength to hold himself together.

"Mommies do, too," Lark interjects with a mouth full of bread, oblivious to the inner workings of wounded adults. "And her face looks funny like yours does sometimes, especially when she's sad."

God—the tears Regina had fought with every ounce of strength she could muster, the raw pain creased into her face as she whispered to him in desperation, pushing away from him on an afternoon painted forever black in his memory, severing his soul as she turned on her heels and walked away.

_I've told you before, Robin. You have to forget about me. There is no other way. Promise me that you will. _

He had told her it was impossible, that she was a part of him now, that they were now seared into each other's framework and spirit. He could never forget her, no matter how stubbornly she had insisted he do so.

_But you have to, Robin. For all of our sakes._

As if it were that easy. As if he ever could.

Had she known then, he cannot help but wonder? Had she realized she carried his baby when she left him standing alone and desperate, bleeding internally from the emotional gash of losing her yet again?

"Is she often sad?" he questions, his heart constricting in a vice as his fingers grow cold. "Your mommy, I mean?"

Lark's face falls, her walnut-hued brows drawing together until they nearly touch.

"Yeah," she answers. "Too much. That's one reason I came to find you. To make her smile again."

His chest clenches painfully, his ears ring and roar.

"You think I can make her smile again?" he asks, his lower lip quivering at the mere thought of that illusive smile. "Your mommy?"

His voice feels disembodied from the rest of him, as if it has a life of its own pulsing through space and time. Her eager grin is too much, the bobbing of tousled waves, the unwarranted trust she has in him and in abilities he now doubts he ever possessed.

"You're her true love," Lark reasons with a shrug. "Of course you can make her smile."

If only love were that easy, he muses to himself.

"I don't know, Little Lark," he sighs, not wanting to allow her to place all of her hopes on his rather stooped shoulders. "Your mother and I have a rather complicated history. But I'm certain that seeing you always makes her smile."

Roland sighs and Lark giggles.

"Usually," the girl returns. "But sometimes I make her sad. We have a complicated history, too."

He laughs at her comment, he cannot help it, the utter seriousness of her expression imprinted on a canvas of utmost innocence.

"You could say it's complicated," Roland interjects, commanding his father's attention at once. "This whole thing is one big complicated mess, and we're all acting like its fine. Like it's normal!"

He feels Lark stiffen even as his son begins to crumble before his own eyes.

"Roland—" he begins, reaching out to him across the table.

"This isn't normal, Papa," the boy insists, standing from his seat. "She just shows up and tell you that you're her Papa? That she's my sister? And you believe her?"

"It's true," Lark stutters as she shrinks back in her seat. "I'm not allowed to lie."

"Roland," Robin interjects. "Let's just sit down and talk—"

"No!" the boy insists with tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm not sitting anymore. And this is not alright!"

He then rushes from the table back to their cabin, slamming the door behind him with a strength that makes Lark wince. Robin feels his soul rip into, half running off in one direction, the other half sitting still as a statue, gasping with delicate lips he instinctively knows are trembling. He stands quickly, only to be waved off by John.

"I'll talk to him," the large man states, looking to the little girl and then back to him. "You stay here—with her."

He nods, knowing it's the only thing to do at the moment, hating that he cannot be with both of his children at once. _Both of his children_—how foreign the concept, yet it is now indisputable, and he looks to his youngest, his new child, as new to him as if she had just drawn her first breaths just moments ago.

"He doesn't like me."

His heart cinches as bile rises up in his throat, and he looks down into brown eyes now brimming with moisture. God—they are the eyes of her mother.

"He will," Robin assures her. "He's just confused and a bit frightened at the moment."

"Frightened of me?"

"No," he clarifies, keeping his voice low and steady. "Frightened of losing me, I think."

Her nose scrunches in complete confusion, and she turns her small body until she is facing him head on.

"Why would he be afraid of that? I haven't come to take you away from him."

He sits down and lifts her into his lap, amazed at how natural she feels there.

"I know you haven't," he reasons. "But Roland doesn't. He only knows that a few minutes ago, he thought he was my only child. But now—"

"But now he's not," the girl finishes for him, her face downcast. "He has to share you with me."

He tips up her chin, gazing into eyes that cinch his heart all too easily.

"Sharing isn't a bad thing, Lark," he assures her as he touches a lock of long hair the color of his. "But it can be difficult at first. Don't you think it might be hard for you to share your mother?"

"I already do," she shrugs. "With Henry."

"Ah," he nods, a fresh wave of anger rolling over him at her statement. Henry knows his sister, yet Roland does not. Damn it, he wasn't even given the chance to know his own daughter—his own child, his own little girl. Why in God's name has Regina kept her from him all these years? She couldn't have feared his reaction to the news—not to the news of a baby—_their _baby—a life conceived in a moment of raw honesty and utmost love in a vault now sealed shut and empty.

"But I don't see him much," Lark continues, her face scrunching in concentration as she tears off another bite of bread. "He only comes for visits."

He knows Henry has been living with Emma and Killian ever since Regina disappeared, but the boy seemed to know nothing of his mother's whereabouts when questioned.

God knows he questioned Henry repeatedly.

"But you love him?" Robin asks, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face as the girl scrunches her nose in a manner so like her mother's.

"Of course I do," she answers. "He's my brother." Her face then falls again as she looks towards their cabin, the place where her new brother currently hides from her.

"And Roland will come to love you, Little Lark," he assures her. "We just have to give each other time, you know. To adjust to being a family."

"Are you adjusting, too?"

He cups her small face, placing a kiss on her forehead, smelling the trace of vanilla in her hair, a scent that reminds him all too much of the woman he will never get over.

"Yes," he confesses softly. "And so are you. You just don't know it yet."

Her brows crease together, her lips protruding in a half-pout.

"And Mommy?" Lark questions. "Will she have to adjust, too?"

He lets out a sigh, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Most assuredly," he states. His insides then clench, and he looks to the girl directly. "Lark—please tell me she knows where you are? That you came to look for me?"

The child shakes her head, and his insides freeze.

"She wouldn't let me come here," Lark explains. "To find my daddy, I mean. She said it was too dangerous and that she had her reasons for telling me not to."

"Shit," he mutters, his face heating as the curse leaves his mouth. "I'm sorry, Lark. It's just that Re—your mother will be very worried about you if she doesn't know where you are." He stares up at the sky, the final vestiges of light fading quickly into night's powerful grip. "And most likely very angry."

"But she doesn't need to worry," the girl gushes. "You'll keep me safe."

"Of course I will," he tells her. "But you mommy doesn't know that, does she? She doesn't even know you are with me."

Lark's eyes widen as her mouth rounds to an "O", a look of sheer panic overtaking her small features.

"Oh, no," she whispers, gripping his shoulders with a surprising strength. "I'll be in big trouble."

It is then he notices the commotion at the edge of the camp, and he stands with Lark still in his arms, her hands clasped around his neck for dear life.

"What is it?" he calls out, receiving no answer as two or three men run towards the forest. He then hears raised voices, one he recognizes better than his own. One that cuts him to the quick.

"Out of my way," she announces, and he feels Lark stiffen against his chest as his pulse races ahead of him. "I need to know if she's here, if she's…"

Then she's just there, standing in front of him in the shadows, years apart melting away before he has a chance to catch his breath.

"..alright."

The word hangs between them, the ending of her previous thought crossing a cavern created over time and silence. Her eyes quickly take in the scene before her—Lark, safe, in his arms, and she falters, he sees it, a flash across her eyes he recognizes and reads fluently.

"Robin."

Her voice is muted and personal, laced with anger, longing, frustration and a healthy dose of fear. He reminds himself to breathe.

"Hello, Regina," he manages, taking a step in her direction he knows to be as tenuous as stepping on to quicksand.


	5. Chapter 5

_Many, many thanks to all of you wonderful readers who have embraced this story. I'm so glad you are enjoying it, and the remarks you make about Lark just thrill my heart! The character is actually based on a student of mine, a delightful five year old girl who brings joy to my day with her bright brown eyes, loving personality and keen intelligence. _

_Anyway, hugs to all of you for taking the time to read and write a review. They mean more than you know! _

_And now, shall we check in with Regina?_

* * *

><p>Regina's lungs burn, her legs feel leaden, but she cannot stop until she finds her—her baby, her Lark. She knows where her daughter would go, had spoken to her just last night about the girl's desire to know more about her father, but she hadn't thought Lark would actually strike out on her own.<p>

She should have known better. It was exactly the sort of thing she would have done as a girl.

She had driven as far as she could, abandoning her car once she reached the edge of the forest, not even thinking to change her shoes or put on a coat as she tore off in a frenzied search for her baby girl. If the path didn't lead over the border, she could magic herself to her intended destination and be done with this. But she is certain Lark is on her way to Robin, and he resides where her magic cannot be wielded.

The results would be catastrophic. It could get them all killed.

She only prays that her daughter hasn't somehow triggered the curse in her innocence, knowing her magic is still sporadic and undisciplined, fearing that dark forces are watching her every move. She has to get to her and take her back home—back to safety.

She must find Lark before anyone else can.

She begins to jog faster, noting with increasing alarm that forest is growing darker by the second. Her baby is afraid of the dark, and she cannot stomach the thought of Lark being all alone and frightened. What if she's cold? What if she's crying?

What if she's already been taken?

"Lark!" she cries out, willing her child to answer her, hearing only the sounds of the woods answer back. She stops to catch her breath, willing herself not to vomit, staring at the trail ahead of her. She doesn't remember when the tears began, but they're running down her face unhindered. Her nose is also dripping, she realizes, but she doesn't care, her mind barely registering that fact as she stares in one direction and then another, needing guidance, praying for a sign.

Anything. Anything to find her baby.

Then she sees something in the distance— a creature, she thinks, but it's hard to make out. A wolf? Ruby, perhaps? No. It's an animal, but not a wolf, and definitely not Ruby. She hopes it's not hostile, whatever it is. Her magic would be deadlier here than any animal attack, and she doesn't have time to defend herself before she reaches her child. She has to find her daughter. That is her priority, and nothing will keep her from it.

She'd summon The Dark One herself if she wasn't certain that he would betray her whenever it suited his purposes.

A bark cuts into her thoughts, and she realizes that it's a dog that she sees, nothing but a huge, white dog that bounds eagerly towards her, much to her chagrin.

"Go away," she commands, attempting to wave it off, but the creature moves directly to her side, tongue hanging out, tail wagging furiously, dispelling any fears of hostility. It looks up at her with almost human intelligence before nudging her hand and barking eagerly, dashing in front of her, turning to see whether or not she is following.

"I don't have time for this," Regina states out loud. "Shoo! Shoo!"

But the dog ignores her instructions, rushing to her yet again, nudging her hand with its nose, barking insistently, dashing ahead before turning to stare at her stubbornly.

Then it hits her like a hammer between the eyes. Her daughter has used magic.

"Lark," she breathes, her pulse jumping into her neck, adrenaline pushing into overdrive as she stares at the fluffy creature in shock. This dog is her child's doing—she can sense it, the residual magic left in its wake making the hair on her arms stand on end. Her panic increases one hundred fold and she runs blindly through braches and leaves, keeping an eye on the canine bounding just ahead of her, finding speed she never knew she possessed. If her child has used magic, time is of the utmost essence, every second a ticking time-bomb, every breath one that brings them all closer to their destruction.

Had Lark summoned the creature out of fear? For defensive purposes? Is it taking her to where her child is being held captive, perhaps, or where she lies wounded? Unconscious? Unable to move?

She cannot allow her thoughts to go any further than that.

The dog keeps guiding her further into the forest, and she realizes with a start that her surroundings are now achingly familiar, that she is being led in _his_ direction, towards Robin, towards his camp. If Lark made it to her father…

Relief and terror flood every vein all at once. At least with Robin, her daughter will have some sort of protection. But not enough. Even she, an experienced wielder of dark and light magic feels defenseless at the moment, and that's a feeling she despises to the core. Especially when the lives of those she loves are on the line.

_Love is weakness_ sounds like an echo in her mind, and she shoves thoughts of her mother away, focusing all of her thoughts on her daughter.

All but the ones that keep circling around the child's father.

There it is, just ahead, his camp, there on the hill. She nearly cries out as the ridge becomes visible, needing her daughter, craving _him_. She feels as if she is half-removed from her own body, her mind focused, her ears ringing and cold as her feet move unthinkingly. Then men are racing towards her, and she pushes past them as if they are of no significance, for they aren't. Not to her. Not right now.

Right now she has to get to her daughter. Right now that is all that matters.

Her feet tug her up the final slope, and she rushes towards the center of the camp, knowing she is there, feeling the draw of her child as a weighted, physical force.

"Lark!" she cries looking around wildly until her eyes rest on a sight that knocks the air from her lungs.

Lark is safe. Safe and bundled up in the arms of her father.

"Robin."

It's all she can manage, the sight of him nearly making her knees buckle as too many feelings hit her at once. They look so natural together—father and daughter—and it's all she can do to stand upright and keep herself from shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Hello, Regina," he responds, and she shuts her eyes to the pull of his voice, knowing she can't let him get to her, knowing it could lead to his ultimate destruction. She opens them again, only to find him studying her as he had so often in the past, reading her as if she were a book laid open for his personal perusal.

"Hello, Robin."

Their eyes remain locked, her mouth partially open, his lip twitching just so. God, to see him like this…it's too much, it's too hard. She has to leave immediately.

But she is safe—her Lark is safe. She breathes in slowly, feeling half-starved for air as her arms stretch out towards her daughter and part of her world rights itself.

"Lark," she cries, kneeling down as the girl pushes herself away from her father and runs to her on short, chubby legs. "Thank God." Eager arms encase the child, holding her to her chest, breathing in her hair, her body trembling as relief and terror collide violently.

"Don't cry, Mommy," Lark instructs. "I'm okay."

She laughs at her daughter's remark, crying all the harder into her hair.

"I was so scared, baby," Regina returns, touching the girl's face repeatedly as tears fall freely down her own. "I didn't know where you were or if you were ok. Don't ever do this to me again."

Lark hangs her head before looking back at her father, the man she has every right to know. The man Regina has never gotten over. The man who now understands that she has kept him from his child for the past several years. God only knows what he's thinking and feeling right now.

She knows that she would be furious were the situation reversed.

"I only just realized that she hadn't told you where she was," he inserts, walking towards them, coming too damn close. "I'm sorry you were frightened, Regina."

God. He's apologizing to _her_. She cannot do this. Not now—there isn't time. She looks at the ground, at her daughter, at the trees, anywhere but at him. He has the power to break her, and she cannot afford to be broken. Not now. There's too much at stake.

She stands then, swallowing hard and summoning her courage.

"And I'm sorry you had to find out like this," she states, her voice not as even as she would like but smoother than she had anticipated. "About Lark."

They gaze at each other unblinking, his brows drawn up, hers set and unmoving.

"So am I," he agrees, stepping even closer. "But at least I know I have a daughter now, that _we_ have a daughter."

His voice bears a dangerous edge, one that stings every nerve ending she possesses. Her hands tremble in spite of herself.

"And right now I have to get our daughter out of here," she whispers, making Lark gasp as she dashes back to Robin's arms. "For her own safety."

"What?" he questions incredulously. "I just met her, Regina, and you want to take her away again?"

They stand eye to eye, so much hurt and passion between them, his questions and pain palpable, radiating from him like a physical aura.

"I won't let you do that," he insists, standing taller somehow.

"You have to," she bites back. "You have no idea what you're dealing with here, Robin."

He laughs bitterly, inhaling half of the air around them before gazing back at her in pent-up fury.

"Oh, I think I do," he returns with an ominous chuckle. "I know you all too well."

"I'm not talking about myself," she throws back, doing her best to ignore the white hot pain brought on by his remark. "There are forces at work here you know nothing about."

"And you don't trust that I will watch out for my own child, that I would give my life to protect her?" He bites his lower lip, his head shaking in silent fury. "I promise you, Regina, that she will be perfectly safe in my keeping, and I think that I have a right to spend some time with her given all that I've missed out on already. Don't you?"

Her head is shaking before her lips are able to function.

"Listen," she retorts. "We can discuss this later, but you have to trust me on this, Robin. Please."

He moves directly into her personal space, looking into her as he always has.

"And why should I do that?" he asks, holding his child all the closer. "When you didn't trust me enough to even tell me that I was going to be a father again?"

She can't answer him, her mind swirling out of control at his proximity, her heart approaching the point of physical pain.

"If you ever loved me, I need to you to give me the benefit of the doubt. Just one more time."

She forces the statement from her lips, gluing her eyes to his, despising herself for manipulating him in such a manner.

"That's not fair, Regina," he bites back, his emotions precariously close to the surface. "And you know it."

"Robin, we don't have time for this. We—"

"Stop it!" Lark interjects, her small chin quivering. "You're not supposed to fight. You're supposed to make each other happy. Pixie dust doesn't lie."

Her insides squeeze at her daughter's words, and she breathes in the forest air, welcoming its clean scent even as she knows their departure is necessary.

"We have to leave, Lark," Regina continues softly, cupping her child's cheek. "It's not safe for you here in the woods, even with your daddy here to watch out for you. We need to get back home."

"Can't he come with us?" the girl asks, looking from one parent to the other. She stares back at this man who touches places Regina has been unable to seal off, even after years apart from him. "Please, Mommy."

Her heart severs in her chest, her senses reeling out of control, just when she need clarity and discipline.

"It's not that simple, sweetheart," she begins, knowing her voice sounds forced.

"Why can't it be?" he cuts in, moving in so close that she can smell him. Her knees quake as her mouth goes dry. "Why must it be so complicated?"

"Because it's risky," Regina warns, keeping her eyes fixed on Robin's. "If you come with us, you might not be able to come back here, to this world. Ever."

His lips purse together as he looks from her back to Lark, a debate playing out on his expression before he reaches a decision she cannot predict.

"I'll bring Roland, then," he states, passing their daughter back into her arms. "My children are what matter most to me."

His words burn, but she should have expected something like that. Why the hell should he still harbor any feelings for her, after all? Any feelings besides hatred, that is.

"And you say that we need to hurry?" he continues, pulling her from her trance. "That time is of the essence?"

Her breath catches as she realizes what he has just given her, what has just been laid in her hands. His trust. Even after all that has happened. Even with all he still doesn't know. She fights back further tears as she swallows with difficulty.

"Yes," she returns, authority returning to her tone. "We need to leave immediately."

He nods thoughtfully before turning on his heels and jogging to what must be his cabin without another word. Lark watches him go before looking back at her mother.

"Roland doesn't like me," she confesses, her bottom lip sticking out as Regina sets her down. "I tried to be nice, but he doesn't want a sister."

She hugs her baby to her chest, absorbing all of her yet again, looking over her shoulder to make certain nothing unknown is sneaking up on them in the darkness.

"He'll come around," Regina insists, stroking her fair waves. "Just give him time, alright?"

"That's what Daddy said," Lark states. "That we all needed to 'just to being a family…or something like that."

"Adjust," Regina corrects, seeing Robin practically dragging Roland back in their direction. She's not certain she would have recognized the boy at first had he not been with his father. He's so much taller, no longer the precocious preschooler so easily won over by ice cream, but now nearly a young man, one who will demand answers of his own from her in the very near future.

"And your father was right, sweetheart," Regina admits quietly. "Adjusting isn't always easy."

"It should be," Lark states, and Regina hugs her again, still absorbing relief into her body that her child remains unharmed. "We're a family. What's so hard about that?"

"You sound like an old friend of mine," Regina muses as she takes Lark's hands within her own.

"Who?" Lark questions, clearly intrigued by this bit of information.

"Snow White," Regina answers, grinning as her child's eyes grow wide in delighted shock.

"Alright," Robin cuts in, touching the girl's hair before she throws herself back into his arms, making Roland wince. "We'll probably move faster if you ride on my shoulders, Little Lark," he reasons, hoisting her up into that position. "Roland, you stick close to Regina and keep an eye out for anything unusual. Understood?"

A job seems to give the boy purpose, and she looks down at this child who still touches her heart, giving him a smile he tries not to return.

"Understood," Roland replies, taking hold of his bow, slinging his arrows over his shoulder.

"Well then," Robin voices tightly. "Shall we be off?"

She nods, words sticking to the pastiness of her throat as she redirects her gaze back to the trail they must traverse.

"Follow me," Regina instructs, leading them into the dark of night without any assurance of a safe journey towards their final destination.


End file.
